Double Dose
by AnimationNut
Summary: Summer is a time of adventure and mystery, especially for those in Gravity Falls. But the summer flu is not merciful, and the Pines twins are struck down with leaking noses and nauseous stomachs. But they don't have to suffer alone-Grunkle Stan intends to be by their side the whole time.
1. Summer Flu

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Summer Flu**

The moon's rays filtered through the thin curtains that hung in front of the attic window. Mabel Pines rolled over with a soft moan, eyelids cracking open. She blearily looked at her cat-clock hanging on the wall, and the paws were pointing at _12 _and _3 _respectively.

"What hit me?" She asked herself groggily, hand moving to press against her forehead. There was a steady pounding in her head, snot dripped from her nostrils and her throat felt heavy. Coughing slightly, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her favourite purple nightgown and climbed from her bed.

Bad idea.

The room spun around her and she gripped the bedpost for balance. Taking a few breaths, she waited a moment before creeping over to her brother's bed. "Dipper," she whispered. "Are you alive?"

Her twin grumbled in his sleep, discomfort creasing his brow. He rolled over and tugged his blanket tighter around him, his shivers noticeable. Mabel felt her own body tremble with cold, though she knew it was one of the hottest weeks of the summer.

There was no doubt about it. They were sick.

Vaguely remembering the tell-tale signs of scratchy throats and leaky noses, Mabel wrapped her arms around her torso with a soft frown. There few things in the world that she hated, but the summer flu was one of them. You were stuck inside on beautiful days, bed ridden and feeling lousy.

A bout of coughing overtook her and she pressed her fist against her mouth to muffle the sound. Stan did not like to be woken up in the middle of the night, so she tried to make less noise as possible. "What cures the common cold?" She asked her pet pig Waddles. When her pig continued snoring contentedly, Mabel answered her own question. "Orange juice! And maybe some sugar to keep the energy up."

She snagged her blanket from bed, careful not to disturb Waddles. She wrapped it around her body and made her way downstairs. "Squeakity squeak squeak," she said softly as the stairs groaned under her weight.

Reaching the main landing, she spotted the blue glow of the television coming from the living room. She peeked inside and found her great-uncle snoring away on his favourite armchair, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

Giggling softly (which quickly turned into coughs) Mabel retreated into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and wrestled out the cardboard carton of juice. Tucking it under one arm, she stood on her tiptoes and opened up a cupboard. She snagged a glass and just as she was pulling out, another dizzy spell struck her.

She dropped the glass in order to grab the back of a wooden kitchen chair to keep herself from falling over. It shattered on the tiles, glass shards scattering around her feet. With a soft whimper, she rested her head against the wood, her stomach suddenly twisting violently.

"What's goin' on in here?"

Slowly, she lifted her head to see her Grunkle Stan framed in the doorway. "My tummy is rebelling against me," she said.

Frowning, Stan moved into the kitchen. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"I've got the summer flu."

Bending down, he lifted Mabel into his arms and swept her over the glass. He set her on the kitchen table and rested his wrist against her forehead. "Geez, what did you eat, molten lava?"

"I don't think that would taste so good," she mumbled. "Maybe if we added sprinkles to it, though."

Stan spotted the carton of juice she clutched under her arm. "If you wanted a drink, you coulda just came and got me."

"You were sleeping, and I can do it. The room just started to go topsy-turvy, that's all."

"I can see that." Stan gentle took the juice from her grip and set it on the table. "Back to bed with you, missy. I'll get your juice for you."

"M'kay," Mabel hummed and got down from the table. She made the trek back to her attic bedroom that she shared with Dipper. She climbed into her bed and wrapped herself up in her blanket, her cold feet pressed against Waddles' side.

A minute later, Stan entered with a glass of orange juice. Mabel gratefully took it and started to chug, the sweet liquid a blessing on her dry, sore throat.

"Whoa, whoa," Stan cautioned, easing the rim of the glass from her lips. "Not so fast, kid. You don't want to upset your stomach."

"It's already mad at me," informed Mabel sadly. She gave her belly a pat, and an uncomfortable lurch answered her attempt at affection. "It doesn't respond to my love anymore."

"Give it a few days," Stan drawled. "I'm sure it'll forgive you."

Mabel finished her orange juice at a slower pace and handed her great-uncle the glass. Stan set it on the nightstand table and glanced at his nephew. He was shifting about in his sleep, a sheen of sweat on his brow. "Him too?"

"It's our twin powers," Mabel explained with a yawn. "We always get sick together."

"Well, at least this place will be quiet for a bit. I'm going to get the thermometer, try not to fall asleep on me."

He departed, leaving Mabel to stare at the mouldy ceiling. She knew that sleep would not come so easily to her as it did to Dipper when they were sick. It was a gift she wished she had.

After a few minutes of listening to her brother's uneven breathing, Stan returned, carrying two boxes of tissues, a bucket and two glass thermometers. "Dry your nose before you drown in your own fluids."

Mabel took a tissue from the box handed to her and blew hard. When she was done, she pulled back the white folds and stared at the green booger mess inside. "That came from my nose."

"That's gross, kid." Stan shook his head and stuck one of the thermometers in her mouth. "No talking. I'll let you know when you can take it out."

Mabel nodded and tossed the tissue onto the hardwood floor. Stan placed the bucket in the middle of the room and knelt by Dipper's bed. "Kid," he said, shaking the boy firmly. "Wake up."

Dipper gave a whine of protest and pressed against the wall. Stan pulled the blanket way, causing the boy to turn over and tuck his knees against his chest. Reproachful eyes peered through cracked eyelids, lips formed into a pout.

"I know, kid. I know." Stan eased the boy into a sitting position. "Open up."

Dipper obeyed, parting his lips and allowing the thermometer to be placed against his tongue. "Alright, Mabel, you can take yours out now."

The brunette obeyed, taking the slim glass stick from her mouth. Stan took it from her and studied the red line. "One hundred degrees Fahrenheit."

"I'm hot," Mabel joked.

Stan set the thermometer on the nightstand table and moved back to Dipper, whose eyes were sagging. "Good job, kid." He checked his temperature. "Sorry, Mabel. He's got you beat. One hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit. I know two squirts who aren't doing anything tomorrow."

"Sleep?" Dipper mumbled hopefully.

"Yeah, sport. You can go back to sleep." Stan pulled the blanket half-way over the boy's body. "I'll check on you in a few hours."

"Thanks," slurred Dipper, eyes falling shut.

"But I can't sleep when I'm sick," Mabel looked up at her uncle with wide eyes. "Can I watch T.V. with you downstairs?"

"Are you trying to infect me?"

"Uh-huh. Then we can all be sick buddies!" She held her arms out expectantly, and Stan let out a sigh before scooping his niece into his arms. The girl buried her head against his shoulder happily. "Love you."

"Yeah, yeah," Stan said gruffly, snagging her box of tissues and casting a quick glance at the slumbering Dipper before heading downstairs.

The television was still blaring the Ducktective marathon. Stan settled in his armchair, moving Mabel into a more comfortable position. Her head rested against his chest, her legs stretching across his lap. "Am I gonna have to stay in bed all day tomorrow?"

"It is tomorrow, and yes. The second the sun rises you're going back to rest this bug off. The Shack isn't going to clean itself, so I need you two healthy and weird as soon as possible."

"We're pretty weird," informed Mabel seriously. "So that might take a while."

Despite her claim, after five episodes the girl fell asleep, curled against her uncle's chest. Stan smoothed her hair away from her sweaty forehead and smiled fondly.

"Get well, kid. If you and your brother aren't running around soon, I don't know what I'm going to do with the silence."

**I think this will be two chapters, but I'm not certain. Just fluff between Stan and his niece and nephew. If there are particular moments you want to see, throw down your suggestion in a review and I'll see what I can do.**


	2. Bed Ridden

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Bed Ridden**

When Stan awoke four hours later, it was to find himself alone in the living room, the television set now airing an early morning talk show. With a soft grunt, he got out of his armchair and stretched, his stained tank up rising up and exposing his generous gut. "Mabel?"

There was no response, so he assumed that she had woken up before him and went back to her attic abode. He went to his bedroom and changed into his usual tux before climbing the stairs to check on the twins.

He gave a brief rap on the wooden door before easing it open. He peeked into the room and found Dipper twisted up in his covers like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Mabel's bed was empty. "Darn kid," he grumbled, knowing that the child was avoiding her temporary bed-ridden fate.

Focussing on Dipper, he went over and untangled the boy from his wool entrapment. The twelve-year old whined at the loss of warmth, and Stan caught the small hands grabbing blindly for the blanket in his own calloused grip. At the source of contact, Dipper blearily opened his eyes. "Cold," he informed plainly.

"You got a fever, sport. You need to cool it down. That means no smothering yourself with a blanket." Stan hoisted the boy up so that he was leaning against the wall and placed the back of his hand against the child's forehead. The flesh was still warm to the touch. "I'm going to find your sister, I'm going to get you both a cold cloth, and I'm taking this with me."

Stan tossed the blanket over his shoulder. Dipper pouted up at him, his sweaty bangs falling over his eyes. But he did not argue, he only curled up into a ball and snuggled into his pillow. "Drink?" He requested. "Please?"

"Geez, runt, are you always this articulate when you're sick?" Stan asked in amusement.

He got a nod in response. Stan shook his head and descended back downstairs, tossing the heavy blanket on the living room couch as he went. He shoved open the door that separated the gift shop from the rest of his home and was greeted by his redheaded cashier, who (in a very rare display) showed up on time.

"Hey, boss!" Wendy grinned, leaning against the till. "Ready to open shop?"

Stan cast a quick glance at his watch. There was about twenty minutes left before he was to officially open. "Not quite. Where's Soos?"

"Chasing the raccoons off. They found their way into the vents, so he's clearing them out."

A loud grunt sounded from above, followed by furious hissing. Stan rolled his eyes and thumped his fist against the ceiling. "Soos! Don't break anything up there! And try not to get rabies!"

"_Got it!"_

Stan returned his attention to Wendy, who was idly observing him. "Have you seen Mabel?"

"Not this morning. Why?"

"She's sick and should be in bed. But I don't think that girl knows the meaning of the word rest."

Wendy tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "Probably shouldn't tell you this, but I don't want her to get worse. I need my homies to hang with as soon as possible. She likes to hide in the cupboards when she doesn't want to be found."

"Should have known," he muttered. "Thanks, kid. If I'm not down here in twenty minutes, open up without me."

"If Soos brings the ceiling down, can I go home?"

"Nope. You'll get to help him fix it."

He left the shop and entered the kitchen. He bent down near the cupboard under the sink and yanked the wooden door open.

When light abruptly replaced the darkness, Mabel had to squint in order to see who had discovered her. She put on an innocent smile upon seeing her great-uncle scowling at her and held out her cardboard container of chocolate icing. "Breakfast?"

"Out."

Sighing, Mabel climbed out and placed her icing on the counter. Stan tore a paper towel from the roll on the table and scrubbed his niece's face with it. "Chocolate icing isn't exactly full of nutrients."

"No, but it's full of sugar!"

"Which is the last thing you need." Stan finished cleaning her face and gave her bottom a firm pat to propel her to the door. "Bed. I'll be up in a minute."

The girl shuffled from the kitchen and Stan made quick work of filling two glasses with orange juice. He also doused two cloths with cold water from the sink and carried the items up the stairs. When he entered the attic, it was to see Mabel trying to liberate her blanket from her brother's tight grasp.

"_Dipper."_

The boy peered sleepily at him from Mabel's bed. "Love you."

The smile surfaced before he could stop it. "In your own bed, runt, and stay there. If I have to tie you down, I will. Don't test me."

Dipper gave a sigh, but he climbed from his sister's bed and settled back in his own. He spotted the glasses of orange liquid in his uncle's grasp and brightened. He held out his hand and Stan placed the drink in his grasp. "Don't chug it," he warned. "Or else you'll be spewing orange gunk all over this place."

"Kay." Despite his burning throat, Dipper managed to take his time, slowly tipping the cold liquid into his mouth. Mabel took a sip, but her face twisted up in disgust and she set the glass aside.

Stan frowned in concern. "What's the matter?"

"Chocolate icing and orange juice don't go together," she informed, shuddering slightly.

"No kidding." Stan smirked. "But you're not getting milk. That's only going to thicken the phlegm in your throat."

He pulled the wool blanket from Mabel's bed and tucked it under one arm. He knew that Dipper would end up rolling himself in it, so it was best to remove it temporarily from their quarters. "I'll get some fleece blankets from the closet. You guys keep these on your foreheads for now. You want to get those fevers down."

The twins obliged, holding the dripping clothes to their sweaty foreheads. "What do you want for breakfast?" Stan asked.

Both screwed their faces up at the mention of food. Mabel was feeling worse due to her intake of icing, and Dipper, while he slept like no tomorrow when sick, had difficulty ingesting solids. "Not hungry," they said in unison.

"Alright, but you'll eat something for lunch," informed Stan sternly. "I'll be back with the fleece blankets."

Mabel nodded and rested against her pillow. Waddles gave a soft oink and climbed into her lap, giving her chin a comforting lick. "It's not fun being sick," she informed her pet, hugging him close. "You feel gross and green stuff comes out of your nose. Plus you feel like you're dying."

"I am dying," Dipper muttered from his bed, eyes half-lidded as sleep started to creep up on him once again.

"Go to sleep," urged Mabel. "Maybe you can sleep this one off."

"Kay." Dipper yawned and rolled over, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the shivers that racked his body. The cloth felt good against his forehead, water droplets coursing gently down his flushed face.

Stan returned with the thinner blankets. He draped one over Mabel and Waddles, and the other over Dipper, who was already half-asleep. "I wish he would sleep this good all the time," Stan said, gently tucking the boy in.

"What am I supposed to do?" Mabel whined. "I'm not tired."

"Try to rest." Stan went over and adjusted the cloth on Mabel's forehead. "If you need something, come and get me. Or send Waddles. You can do that, right pig?"

Waddles _oinked _in confirmation, nuzzling Mabel's chin in affection.

"Are you gonna be working?" Mabel asked.

"Yeah. I got a few Mystery Tours today. If I'm out, Wendy or Soos will help you. I'll try to finish up early today."

"You don't have to do that," Mabel said quickly, suddenly feeling guilty. She knew he hated closing the Shack early, as it resulted in a loss of profit.

"Well, I am." Stan gave her nose a light tweak, and she giggled. "You and your brother get into enough trouble when you're healthy. I'm not leaving you alone longer than I need to if you're this sick."

"Could you tell us a story later?" Mabel asked hopefully. "If Dipper is awake?"

"Yeah," Stan conceded, knowing he was breaking his previous claim of never telling a bedtime story. Mabel grinned brightly, and he felt the need to warn, "Though it won't be good. I suck at story telling."

"You tell stories all the time to the tourists," she pointed out. "And they're great!"

"Thanks, squirt. I'll be back in a few hours. Rest and behave."

Mabel nodded and huddled under the covers. Stan left the attic, and she peeked over at her brother. He was sleeping soundly, hands clutching at the thin blanket draped over him.

"Just wait, bro. We're gonna annihilate this flu. Then we'll back with Grunkle Stan in the Shack in no time at all."


	3. Sick Days Are Lazy Days

**I do not own Gravity Falls.**

**Well, I'm sick, so I thought it would be fitting to update a chapter while I share the same symptoms as Dipper and Mabel.**

**Sick Days Are Lazy Days**

The hours dragged by, and Mabel spent those long minutes sprawled in her bed, fleece blanket draped over her middle and Waddles napping by her feet. When the taste of chocolate icing left her taste buds, she snagged her glass of orange juice and drank it greedily. But the liquid was now warm and did no good against her dry, burning throat.

Coughing from the uncomfortable sensation, Mabel rubbed the base of her throat gingerly. She was in dire need of a fresh drink…or a cough drop. Maybe both.

Rolling out of bed, she flinched as her feet struck the cold wooden floor. Shivering, she crept to the door, casting a quick glance at her snoozing brother as she went. He had wrapped himself up in the thin blanket, his breathing uneven and the cloth hanging halfway over his right eye.

Smiling at the sight, Mabel went downstairs and to the bathroom. She threw open the cabinets and rummaged through the contents, hoping to find a worn cardboard box of small red candy-like throat soothers.

"Darn," she whispered upon coming up empty. Pursing her lips, she tried to think of where they would be, but her throbbing head wouldn't let her think.

Hoping that Wendy and Soos might know, she made her way into the gift shop, where people jostled against each other for overpriced souvenirs. Mabel stood on her tiptoes and peered over the crowd, where she saw Wendy lazily cashing the customers out. "Wendy!"

What was supposed to be a yell came out as a soft rasp. Sighing, Mabel wrestled her way through the crowd of people, managing to avoid getting an elbow to the face. She emerged on the other side, panting slightly and sweating more than she was before.

"Mabel?" Wendy took notice of the twelve-year girl leaning against the register stand. "You're supposed to be in bed, dude."

"My throat is trying to kill me," the girl rasped, a pout on her lips. "I think I'm gonna lose my voice. And I _need _my voice! How am I supposed to spread my Mabel-ness if I can't talk?"

Wendy grinned. "You've got a bedazzling gun, a horde of stickers and a collection of communicative sweaters. I think you'll be able to communicate just fine. So whatcha need, babe?"

"Excuse me?" A customer on the other side of the till waved a wad of bills in front of Wendy's face. "I'd like to pay for these."

Annoyed, the redhead swatted his hand away. "Chillax, bro. I'll only be a sec. Those cheap-butt bobbleheads aren't going anywhere."

When Wendy turned back to face Mabel, the girl asked, "Do you know where Grunkle Stan keeps the cough drops?"

"No clue," admitted Wendy. "But Soos might know. _Soos! You done with raccoon hunting?"_

The large handyman walked in through the open gift shop door, scratched up but otherwise healthy. "They're out frolicking in the forest," he confirmed. "I'm gonna miss them. I felt connected with them. They like to eat, just like me."

"I'm sure they'll be back," dismissed Wendy. "Listen, can you show Mabel where the cough drops are? I can handle the fort down here."

"I got it covered."

Soos led Mabel into the main house and to the kitchen. The brunette watched as he opened up a drawer near the kitchen sink and removed an orange box of the desired drops. "I love these things. They're like candy, but not."

He popped one out and stuffed it into his mouth before handing the box to Mabel. "Thanks," she said gratefully.

"No prob. I'll walk you back upstairs. Y'know, to make sure you don't collapse or anything."

Soos walked with Mabel up to the attic. As the girl climbed into bed, he noticed her empty glass. "You want a refill, dude?"

"That'd be nice. If you don't mind."

"Course not." Soos collected the twins' drinking glasses and dried out washcloths. "Be back in a few."

As the large handyman left the attic, Mabel shoved her freezing feet back under the blanket and dumped a couple of cough drops into her mouth. "Mmmm," she sighed contentedly. "Cherry flavoured."

Waddle peered sleepily at the box of cough drops and nudged his owner's hand in curiosity. "Sorry, Waddles, but I don't think cough drops are for pigs."

She twisted over her shoulder to check on her brother. But Dipper was still sound asleep, sweat glistening on his brow. "Dipper," she called, hoping to coax him awake. "Dipper! Bro! Wake up! I'm bored!"

Raspy snores answered her.

Pursing her dry, cracked lips, Mabel chucked the cough drops at her brother. She scored a direct hit, the cardboard box struck him in the forehead. But it did not rouse him from slumber. He only grumbled and rolled over, tucking his head under his pillow.

Heaving a sigh, she flopped back against her bed. Waddles crawled onto her chest, nuzzling her cheek affectionately. "At least I have you for company, Waddles."

Soos soon returned with two glasses of orange juice and a pair of soaking wet cloths. He tended to Dipper first, rolling the boy carefully to his back and setting the cloth on his burning forehead. He then went over to Mabel, setting her juice on her nightstand table. "There you go, hambone."

"Thanks, Soos." Mabel accepted the cloth and dabbed it against her flushed face. "Do you hafta go back to the gift shop? Or can you hang for a bit?"

"I can hang. Wendy can handle the Shack for a mo." Soos settled on the edge of Mabel's bed. "What do you want to do?"

"Can we play cards?"

"Sure," agreed Soos. "But not Go Fish. I can never find the right fish."

…

The second Stan returned from his Mystery Tour he went to check on his niece and nephew. Upon reaching the attic abode, he found Dipper fast asleep and Mabel in an intense game of Crazy Eights with Soos.

"Last card!" Mabel said triumphantly, slapping down a three of diamonds.

Soos grinned and dropped his last two cards; a three of spades and a three of hearts. "Ha!"

"Noooo!" she wailed, flinging her card to the floor. "I call rematch!"

"You're gonna have to take a rain check on that rematch," interrupted Stan. "Mabel needs rest, and that's not gonna happen if you get her riled up over cards. Besides, you need to make sure Wendy doesn't take a nap at the register."

"Can do," said Soos. "See you later, hambone. Get well soon."

"I'll try," said Mabel.

The large handyman departed and Stan surveyed his charges. There didn't seem to be too much change in their condition, which was understandable. But what concerned him was the amount of sleep Dipper was getting.

"I'm all for resting when sick," said Stan, going over to the boy's bedside. "But I think this is overdoing it."

"He always sleeps a lot when he's sick," said Mabel, rolling over and peering at the two, hanging over the edge of her bed. "It's hard to get him out of bed."

"Well, you two need to eat, and I gotta take your temperatures again. Do you remember where the thermometers are?"

Mabel nodded.

"Go grab them for me. I already cleaned them, so don't worry about that."

"Did you clean them really good? I don't want to get Dipper's germs," said Mabel, climbing out of bed and shuffling for the door.

Stan snorted. "You have the same illness. I don't think it'd make too much of a difference."

"How do you know? You're not Dr. Grunkle Stan."

He rolled his eyes as his niece skipped from the attic. "Smart mouth." He knelt down and started shaking the boy's shoulder. "Kid, time to get up."

Dipper moaned softly and cracked his eyes open. "Not morning yet."

"It's _past _morning. Its late afternoon. You sleep anymore and you'll throw yourself into a coma."

With a great amount of effort, he sat up against his pillows. "Food?"

"Oh sure, you wake up and start making demands. Do you think just because you're sick I'm gonna wait on you hand and foot?"

"Uh-huh," said Dipper with his most innocent smile. "Chicken soup, please."

Stan shook his head and reached his hand out, smoothing Dipper's hair back. "In a minute, kid. We need to wait for your sister to get back with the thermometers."

"I'm sweaty," informed Dipper, rubbing at his forehead.

"No kiddin'. You don't smell so hot either. When's the last time you had a shower?"

Dipper pursed his lips in thought. "Dunno. You?"

"Don't be funny. Only I can be funny." Stan lightly knocked Dipper on the head.

"I'm funnier than both of you!"

Stan glanced over his shoulder as Mabel walked into the room, thermometers in hand. She stuck one under her tongue before handing the other to her brother, who copied her actions.

About a minute later they removed their thermometers, displaying the results to their great-uncle. "Not much change," he observed. "Alright, I'm gonna go make you some soup, and after that you'll take something to get those fevers down."

"And then you're gonna read us a story," add Mabel.

Stan rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips.

"Yeah. And then I'll read you a story. And then you both are gonna take a shower. Dipper smells like something that crawled out of the bottom of the dumpster."


End file.
